Gemotions

“Well, that’s that,” I said to the empty workshop, the sound of my voice swallowed by the echoing space. I ran a hand across the smooth surface of the workbench, once always filled with my mentor's projects. It was strange that Mr. Olsen never gave any hint that he was planning to retire. A lifetime of wood dust and craft had vanished.

The tools, once familiar friends, now felt foreign, their purpose obscured. I picked up a chisel, its sharp edge glinting in the dim light. Where do I go from here? The question echoed in my mind, unanswered and heavy. My shoulders slumped, the weight of the workshop pressing down on me.